


Possessive

by thewonderzebra



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Lots of swearing and sex, M/M, Smut, Sort of a response to lick-gate, absolutely shameless smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewonderzebra/pseuds/thewonderzebra
Summary: Follows Game 1 of the Toronto series...suffice it to say, Patrice gets a bit *possessive* of Brad.





	Possessive

**Author's Note:**

> This is nothing but smut. Dirty, filthy, Bergy/Marchy smut. If you’re sensitive to this sort of thing, look away now. Otherwise, enjoy.  
> Thanks to Alex (@blindbatalex) and my girlfriend for coaxing me into posting this.

Starting at the end of the first period of Game 1, there was a look in Patrice's eyes that Brad couldn't quite put a label on. He and Patrice were their usual selves, joking, fist bumping, celebrating, and chirping on the ice, showing a bit of affection in the locker room and away from any errant camera lenses. However, there was something about the way Patrice looked at him that made Brad's heart race and stomach do backflips. As the game ended and the Bruins celebrated their win on and off the ice, Brad was suddenly both nervous and excited to get home. 

There is nothing unusual about Brad and Patrice's banter when they get in the car and head for home, although Patrice does poke a bit of fun at Brad for his agitator antics. Brad just grins but grabs Patrice's hand. He studies his love's face, trying to make sense of his expression, but gaining no new clues. His stomach flips again. This had the potential to be either very good or very bad for him--maybe a bit of both. 

No sooner do they shut the door to their apartment and take off their respective shoes, when Brad finds himself suddenly pinned against the wall in the hallway. Patrice has Brad's arms held firm above his head, and is nipping at his lips, then at his throat--hard. Brad shudders. He knows Patrice has the capability to take total control in their bedroom when he wants to, but usually Brad knows when to expect it. Tonight's display seems to come out of left field, with higher intensity than is normal and with next to no warning. 

"Bergy," Marchand pants, breathless from his line mate's kisses. Patrice stops kissing him only for a moment, just long enough to raise an eyebrow. "Not…not that I'm complaining," Brad stutters. "But what's this?"

Patrice shrugs. "A reminder," he says. His words are punctuated with another insistent nip to Brad's throat. 

Brad's hands come to Patrice's head, stroking his hair and down his neck, smoothing over his shoulders quickly. "A reminder?" he asks. "About what?" 

Suddenly, Patrice's eyes darken and he kisses Brad hard before moving his lips to the shell of his ear. "You're mine, Brad," he growls. "Mine. That means I'm the only one who gets to take you home. I'm the only one that gets to kiss you."

A shiver drills down Brad's spine at Patrice's words, even as realization dawns on him. "You know the Komarov kiss was a joke, right?" he says, trying to keep anticipation out of his voice. "It always has been. And I'll always come home to you, no one else."

Patrice nods, his thumbs rubbing circles where he has Brad's wrists pinned against the wall. "I know," he says, but his eyes are darker than ever. "And I trust you. But god, Marchy, when I saw you close to him, I felt like I was going to snap." 

This time, it is Brad's turn to raise an eyebrow. Patrice lets out a humorless laugh and shakes his head. "I've never felt that before," the assistant captain continues. "But I almost skated over to you and kissed you in front of everyone, just to show them that you're mine." 

Brad swallows heavily. "Christ," he mutters. "Didn't realize you were the jealous type." His words are somewhere between factual and teasing, and he pauses, waiting for Patrice's reaction. 

"I'm not," Patrice responds, trailing off momentarily and shrugging. "Well, maybe I am. But only when it comes to you." He smiles a little half-smile, his eyes still dark and his grip on Brad's wrists unrelenting. 

"Just for the record," Brad says, clearing his throat just a bit. "I'm totally cool with that."

Patrice leans in and brushes his lips across Brad's. "Good," he says, pausing to nibble at his other half's lower lip. "Because I'm planning on spending all night reminding you of that." 

It takes a moment, but when Brad catches onto Patrice's meaning, his eyes darken considerably. "Fuck," he replies, almost on instinct. "You can't say that, Patrice." His wrists twitch, but he doesn't move them far, as Patrice still has them held against the wall. 

Bergeron chuckles a bit and nuzzles Marchand's cheek. "Too bad, amour," he murmurs, his voice low and husky and oh-so-perfect. "I just did." He releases Brad's wrists, then, but before Brad can comment, Patrice grabs his hand and stalks off toward the bedroom, dragging him along. 

As they cross the threshold, Patrice starts pulling on Brad's clothes, throwing them haphazardly in the direction of the closet. They'll deal with them later. For now, the only thing Patrice can think about is having Brad in his arms and under his control. 

When the backs of his knees hit the bed, Brad becomes acutely aware that he is in nothing but his boxers while Patrice is still fully clothed. He sets out to change that fact by reaching for his love's belt buckle, but he is stopped by hands catching his wrists. As he looks up, somewhat confused, he is met with a gentle expression but a firm head shake in the negative from Patrice. 

"Patience," he murmurs. "I'm in control tonight." 

Brad swallows roughly, feeling his heart jump in his chest. As if he needed more of a reason to question what he did to deserve this perfect man's unconditional love and desire. He nods. "So," he says, finding his throat to be dry. "Um, how do you want me?" 

The question catches Patrice slightly off guard and simultaneously gives him a power trip. "Lie back," he instructs after a moment. "Hands above your head."

Brad raises an eyebrow, but doesn't question the decisive authority in Patrice's voice. He does as asked, stretching out and raising his arms above his head on his pillow. Turning his head, Brad watches Patrice begin shedding his own clothes, his breath stuttering in his chest as he does so. His heart skips a beat when Patrice strides over to him, tie in hand. Suddenly, Brad has an idea of where this is going. 

Patrice bends over Brad, and presses their lips together, holding his wrists with one hand as he does so. Gently, he loops the tie around Brad's hands, binding them together. Then, after brushing his lips across Brad's forehead, he fastens the tie to the headboard, ensuring that the left winger will keep his hands still. 

As Patrice sets about removing the rest of his clothes, Brad can only watch with wide eyes, goosebumps erupting on his skin in anticipation. Involuntarily, his hips twitch, and he pulls on the tie, clearly wanting to reach for Patrice. Of course, he is remiss if he thinks this will go unnoticed. Patrice is back at Brad's side in an instant, perching on the edge of the bed and pressing a hand to the winger's hip. 

"Stay still for me," the assistant captain all but coos, and Brad can feel his cheeks overheating. He stops pulling against the ties, and looks up at Patrice with what he hopes is an apologetic expression. Patrice smiles. "Ouais, good." 

Once he has shed the rest of his clothing, the assistant captain returns to the bed once more, hands on his hips as he regards his other half. He cannot resist bending down to brush his lips across Brad's, but it is a barely there kiss that leaves the short winger whimpering. "Hmm. What to do with you," Patrice remarks. 

He pretends to be pensive for only a moment before climbing onto the bed and straddling Brad's hips, his knees pressing into the mattress. Brad bites his lower lip, his body tense with the effort of keeping still--but he knows better, and has too much respect for his love than to disregard Patrice like that. Patrice must be able to feel that tension, because he smirks down at Brad, and brings a hand to stroke his cheek. "Relax, ange," he murmurs. 

Patrice leans down and captures Brad's lips, their chests brushing together and making Brad shiver. He kisses him until they are both breathless, wanting more. Patrice smirks down at how utterly wide-eyed and helpless Brad looks, staring up at him. Then, he begins kissing his way down the left winger's body. He pauses at his neck, kissing and nipping bruises along the column of his throat, and then again on his collarbone. "You're mine, Marchy," he reminds, tracing his fingers along the marks he made.

Brad lets out a moan that vibrates Patrice's lips and fingers, his body twitching. Patrice pulls back and raises an eyebrow. Shockingly, a blush comes to the winger's face, and he looks apologetic. "No moving," he mutters. "Right, sorry." 

The assistant captain smiles tenderly, and cups Brad's cheek, stroking the skin there tenderly. "Tell me if I hurt you?" Patrice says. As much as he wants his line mate under his control tonight, he doesn't want to do anything that would push their relationship boundaries in a negative way. He knows Brad will be honest with him, but Patrice wants to make absolutely sure. 

Of course, Brad nods. "I will," he replies. "You're not, though. I just…I want you." 

Patrice just about melts at that, and has to stifle the shiver of desire he feels at Brad's admission. "You have me," he says, and kisses his cheek softly. Assured that Brad isn't feeling pain or intolerable discomfort, he continues with his earlier plan. His hands run up and down Brad's sides, eventually moving to trace the definition of Brad's pecs and chest. He adds kisses to the mix, as well, lovingly pressing his lips against Brad's solid chest muscles, and pausing to feel Brad's heart beat, fast but strong. 

Brad whimpers when Patrice's teeth scrape across his skin, gentle but still enough to leave a mark. Patrice administers the same treatment over every muscle in Brad's torso before moving down the bed to settle between his legs. He nips and sucks bruises onto the skin of Brad's stomach, and does the same all the way across the jut of his hipbones. When Patrice teasingly runs his fingertips and lips in tandem along the waistband of Brad's boxers, Brad lets out a sharp cry, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. 

Patrice presses down on Brad's hipbones, keeping him in place as he looks up and meets his eyes. "What is it you want?" he asks, seemingly innocent. The intonation of his voice makes Brad continue to squirm impatiently. "You have to remember to be still."

The left winger looks absolutely desperate, his eyes wide and pupils blown dark. It's a look that makes Patrice's heart race faster. Teasingly, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Brad's boxers, and begins to pull downward. "Is this what you need?" he asks, nuzzling his lower abdomen. "You want me to touch you?' 

"God, yes," Marchand all but cries. Patrice can't deny the unexpected rush he feels, knowing that he's the one drawing that wantonness out of his love. He smirks up at Brad, and then in one fluid motion strips him of his undergarments. Patrice strokes the lines of his line mate's hipbones once more, and leans in to nip another set of marks there, holding him still with his hands. 

Brad shivers as Patrice trails his touch and lips closer to his cock, which has begun to throb with desire. He tugs insistently on the tie binding his wrists, even though he knows rationally that nothing is going to happen. Indeed, Patrice raises an eyebrow at him, silently questioning his thought process. Brad at least has the presence of mind to look up at his bound hands, then back at Patrice, with a blush on his cheeks. 

Wanting to be a benevolent torturer if nothing else, Patrice takes the hint. Still tracing Brad's hipbone with one hand, he uses the underside of two fingers on his other hand to trace a line up the left winger's length. He smiles when the motion causes Brad to jolt toward his hand. "So hard for me, ange," Patrice coos, and presses a kiss to Brad's stomach, dangerously close to the evidence of his arousal. "You want me to blow you?”

At that, Brad lets out an exasperated whimper, his stomach muscles contracting hard. "Yes," he wails. "Please, Bergy. Fuck." 

In that moment, Patrice wonders why it took him so long to dominate his other half like this. Having Brad spread out and desperate for his touch is nothing less than intoxicating. "All right, baby," he murmurs, closing one hand around Brad's length and delighting in the way he twitches. "I'll take care of you." 

Letting out a sigh of relief, Brad closes his eyes and begins to tip his head back, waiting for Patrice's touch. However, Patrice is having none of it. "Look at me, Brad," he implores. His voice is gentle, but leaves no room for argument.

Brad lets out a shaky breath, but does as requested. When their eyes meet, Patrice smiles. "Good,” he praises. "I want you to remember this. I want you to remember that I'm the only one who gets to kiss you. I'm the only one who can see you like this. I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this."

With that, Patrice twists his hand around the base of Brad's cock, and engulfs him in the wet heat of his mouth. Brad lets out a sharp cry, and Patrice can feel him pulling against the restraint. He smiles around him, and continues to work him with his hand and his mouth, licking circles over his weeping slit and corkscrewing his hand around his full length. Vaguely, Patrice realizes he misses the feeling of Brad's hands in his hair, carding and tugging gently as he blows him. However, this is negated by the fact that Brad is still whimpering helplessly, writhing under Patrice's touch. 

Before long, Brad's back arches up violently, his muscles tightening and his cries becoming louder. Patrice continues working him with expert skill, bobbing his head and stroking him with his tongue. "Patrice," Brad calls, his voice taking on a new level of urgency when Patrice swallows him nearly down to the base. "Bergy, I'm gonna come." 

Patrice pulls back just enough to wink at Brad. "Then come for me, Marchy," he coaxes. "You're always so hot when you come." He takes him into his mouth once more, licking and sucking until his cheeks are hollowed out and he can feel Brad beginning to shake beneath him. 

Brad comes with a startled cry that turns into a strangled moan. His muscles spasm and shake as he spills wave after wave. Patrice, contrary to what some might believe, loves the taste of him, loves the feeling of Brad pulsing in his mouth. He holds Brad's hips, stroking his skin and swallowing eagerly until Brad collapses. 

When the rigidity of Brad's muscles eases and he falls back against the bed, Patrice swallows once more and pulls off of him. He sits back on his heels, and takes a moment to admire his love's totally wrecked state. His chest is heaving, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are scrunched closed as his body trembles through the aftershocks of his orgasm. While pleasuring him had certainly increased Patrice's desire, this sight practically kicks him low in the stomach, his own dick twitching. 

Patrice crawls up the bed, straddling Brad's right knee and framing his face tenderly to kiss him down from his high. He grinds against him almost imperceptibly, even as he nuzzles him sweetly. Patrice knows he doesn't taste like sugar or toothpaste, but he has a feeling Brad doesn't mind. He feels Brad shiver, so he pulls back to lock their eyes, loving the way the left winger's eyes are dark and lust filled.

Mindlessly, Brad reaches for Patrice, only to be stopped by the tie around his wrists. "God, Patrice," he says, voice hoarse from crying out. "You really are a saint." 

At this, Patrice raises an eyebrow, brushing his knuckles across Brad's cheek. "Oh?" he asks. "And why is that?"

Brad blushes furiously, and moves to turn away, but Patrice's hands keep his head firmly in place. "You didn't have to do that," he mumbles. "But that was fucking incredible." 

Patrice chuckles, and leans in to steal another kiss from Brad's lips. "I'm glad," he replies. "But I'm not done with you yet." He smirks when this draws a gasp out of Brad, and moves to sit between his legs once more. 

"Bend your legs up for me," Patrice encourages. He taps on Brad’s knees, and is rewarded shortly thereafter. Brad draws his legs up, bent at the knees and spread apart--just how Patrice wants him. The assistant captain leans down and grazes Brad's belly with his lips and teeth, making him shudder again. 

When Patrice looks up once more, meeting Brad's eyes, he waits for a soft smile before pressing inside with two of his fingers. Brad gasps, and Patrice preemptively holds down his love's hips. "N-no moving?" Marchand asks, his voice cracking. Bergeron nods, and gives his love a reassuring smile. 

Patrice works Brad expertly with his index and middle fingers, pressing on his inner walls and stroking the one spot he knows is capable of bringing mindless pleasure. Only when he is sure that his love has been stretched appropriately does he proceed. Brad whimpers when Patrice withdraws his fingers, only to cry out in shock when Patrice presses his length inside of him. Though tonight is about possession, Patrice is no less patient in waiting for Brad to adjust; as he does so, he presses his torso against his love's, his arms bracketing Brad's chest. 

"Okay?" he asks after a few moments. Brad nods fervently, so Patrice begins thrusting his hips, lips attached to his winger's neck. He is entirely overwhelmed at just how hot and tight Brad is around him, and he stifles a moan by nipping at his love's jaw. "Crisse, Brad you're perfect like this," he murmurs, taking up a relentless pace with his hips and delighting in the moan this elicits. "Are you going to remember who had you like this next time someone gets too close to you on the ice?"

Again, Brad nods feverishly. "Fuck," he wails after a particularly hard thrust. "Bergy, it's you. It's always going to be you." His back arches, bringing him closer to Patrice. 

Patrice lets out a low growl, and bites another mark into Brad's throat. "You're goddamn right it is," he says, snapping his hips to meet Brad's almost violently. He is dangerously close to coming, and by the way Brad has begun to tremble, Patrice can tell he is, too. "Come again for me," he beckons. "I want to be reminded that it's me making you fall apart."

A few quick thrusts later, and Patrice gets what he wants. Brad shakes apart, crying Patrice's name over and again as he spills over his own stomach. Seeing Brad come, feeling him clench, is enough to send Patrice over the edge as well. He shouts Brad's name, spilling inside him and quickly unbinding his hands before collapsing next to him. 

The assistant captain has half a thought to get out of bed, to get a towel and clean up the mess he's made of his love, but he can't bear to leave his side. Though they are both panting, shaky, and sweaty, Brad curls easily into Patrice's side now that he is unbound and Patrice winds his arms around him. He tenderly drops a kiss to Marchand's hair, loving the feeling of his smaller body in his arms. Brad reciprocates the action, nuzzling the juncture of Patrice's neck and shoulder, making the Quebecer's heart come close to bursting. 

"I love you, Patrice," Brad mumbles sleepily, voice shaking like the rest of his body. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you jealous…even if I did really like the outcome. You're hot as fuck when you're possessive." 

Patrice laughs softly. "I love you too, Brad," he murmurs. "You have no reason to apologize, ange. I know it's part of your game; I just am protective over you, eh?" 

"Well, like I said," Brad retorts. "You can get protective, possessive, whatever--anytime. I'm lucky to be yours and I'll never forget that."

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for indulging me. I’ve had this written for a while and haven’t been sure about whether to post it. Leave a comment, if you so choose. Positive feedback keeps my plot bunnies happy. Feel free to come say hi on Tumblr (@thewonderzebra).


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